


Who's Got the Colonel?

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:32:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Christmas fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's Got the Colonel?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #3 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"I'll treasure this…"_

 

          Of all the stupid things that Harrison Blackwood had come up with, this _had_ to be one of his better efforts…

          Ironhorse sighed heavily and waited as the faded fishing hat the astrophysicist sometimes wore – usually to irritate the soldier – made its way around the assembled group of civilians and soldiers collected on the Cottage's patio.

          But, it was Christmas, the colonel reminded himself, swallowing his objections.  He'd promised himself he'd go along with whatever Blackwood came up with to keep the crazy civilian happy…

It was that or suffer the consequence of Harrison's determined efforts to "un-grinch" him.

          Ironhorse watched as each person dutifully plucked a single piece of folded scrap paper from the hat, then passed it along to the next victim, all under the watchful gaze of Blackwood.  The scientist was smiling broadly.  When the fishing cap finally reached the astrophysicist again, he dug into his coat pocket and dropped in another collection of papers, removed one, and started the process all over again.

          "If I can have your attention," Harrison said as the cap made its second round.  "This is how this works.  The first piece of paper will have someone's name on it.  The second has the title of a Christmas carol – popular or traditional.  What you have to do is buy a gift for the person, based on the song title.  For example, if I picked Dr. McCullough and the song _Silent Night_ I might buy her a weekend stay at a local resort, but, to keep this reasonable, the limit for every gift is twenty-five dollars.  Got it?"

          The Omega soldiers all nodded, Suzanne and Norton echoing the movement.  Ironhorse simply continued to watch the group.  They actually look excited about this, the colonel mused silently.  _Either we're getting desperate for diversions, or I just haven't found the holiday spirit yet_.

          " _Colonel_ ," Blackwood said, making it clear it wasn't the first time he'd tried to gain Ironhorse's attention.  He gave the soldier a disapproving scowl.

          "Yes, Doctor?" Ironhorse replied.

          "I assume you understand how this works?" Blackwood questioned him.  Several of the Omegans grinned.

          Ironhorse's eyes narrowed.  "Yes, Doctor, your instructions were sufficient even for my ossified military mind."

          Harrison tried not to smile.  "Glad to hear it, Colonel," he said, slapping the man on the shoulder.  "Good luck, everyone.  And remember, imagination counts!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Derriman hastily shoved the gift he was trying to wrap under his pillow as Coleman knocked, then entered the room without waiting for his reply.

          "Damn it, Norah, you're gonna give me a heart attack doin' that right now."

          The female NCO smiled, and allowed one eyebrow to drift upward in a teasing fashion.  "Why, is that _my_ present you're hiding?"

          Derriman snorted.  "Name, rank and serial number, Coleman, that's all anyone's gettin' until the big day."

          The sergeant dropped her voice to a whisper, "Okay, but listen, we're trying to figure out who's got the Colonel.  Do you?"

          "Norah—"

          "Oh, come on, John.  Just tell me if you got the colonel," she wheedled, then batted her long eyelashes at the platoon sergeant.

          Derriman shook his head and chuckled.  "No.  I don't," he stated matter-of-factly.  "Do you?"

          She shook her head and frowned.  "As far as I can tell none of us do.  It's got to be one of the civilians."

          The older NCO rubbed his chin.  "This ain't a half-bad idea, all in all.  Certainly has everyone psyched-up for the Holidays.  I'm even lookin' forward to seein' what everyone came up with."

          Coleman leaned over and tweaked Derriman's cheek.  "I hear Dr. Blackwood's recruiting for a Santa detail.  With that spare tire of yours…"  She let the implication sink in, then wagged her eyebrows.  "See ya later," she drawled, "Sergeant Santa."

          "Like hell," Derriman called after her as Coleman escaped from the room.  He chuckled.  "Well… maybe."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Debi descended the stairs to the basement work stations as quietly as possible.  She was a detective on the trail of information vital to Cottage security…  Who's got the colonel? she wondered.

          She had pulled Sergeant Stravrakos, the thought itself enough to make her blush.  He was cute.  What if he got her, too?  Debi puffed her cheeks in embarrassment.

          Sergeant Derriman had Sergeant Coleman.  Her mother had Mrs. Pennyworth, but who had the Colonel?  She was going to find out…

          Pausing at the foot of the stairs, she listened to the civilian members of the Blackwood Project, hoping they might reveal the secret…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Come on, Doc.  I'll tell you who I got if you tell me who you got," Drake encouraged.

          "That's not the way it works, Norton," Harrison said pleasantly.  "The idea is for everyone to be _surprised_."

"That's fine with me," Suzanne said.  "I just want to know who's got the Colonel."

          "Yeah, and what song came with him," Norton added.  "This could be interesting."

          "Hold that thought," the astrophysicist told them, heading for the stairs.  "I have some thinking to do."

          Rounding the corner, he nearly collided with the girl before she could retreat up the stairs.  "Hi, Harrison," Debi said, innocently smiling up at the man.

          Blackwood's lips pressed together in a line that said he knew exactly what she'd been doing.  "Secret mission?" he asked quietly.

          Debi nodded, her blonde ponytail bobbing.  "I was just trying to find out who's got the Colonel, too."

          Blackwood shook his head.  "Seems that that's the sixty-four thousand dollar question."

          "Huh?"

          He smiled and patted the girl's shoulder.  "Nothing."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Laughter and a burst of applause accompanied Alexander Starvrakos showing off his present.  Debi smiled shyly.  "I got, _I'll be Home for Christmas_ , and since the Colonel said you're Greek, I though a book on Greece would fit."

          "I think it's great," Alex said, trying hard not to grin in response to the girl's worshipful expression.  He knew his ears must be getting red.  "Thanks, Debi."

          He waited for her to sit back down next to her mother on the couch before picking up a wrapped box and passing it to Norton.  "Mr. Drake, I got _We Three Kings_ , and since I couldn't come up with anything from the title, I decided to go with what the three kings hauled across the desert."

          He handed the box to Drake, who opened it, pulling out an silver inlaid camel incense burner.  "Let me guess," Norton said, holding up several cones of a sweet smelling substance.  "Frankincense and myrrh?"

Stravrakos nodded.

"Very nice," the black man said.  "Now I can pull a Harrison now and then.  Thank you."

          With a devilish grin, Norton hefted a thin box from his lap.  "Gertrude, ahead six," he commanded the voice-activated wheelchair.  It buzzed forward, stopping in front of Suzanne.  "Here you go, Dr. McCullough.  I drew _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_."  The grin turned into a wolfish smile.

          "I'm not sure I should open this in mixed company," she said, her cheeks turning pink under the expression.

          "Just remember, Harrison said imagination counted," Drake warned her.

          Suzanne closed her eyes, shook her head and let the box slide open on her lap.  "Oh, boy," she breathed, pulling out a T-shirt-styled night shirt decorated with pairs of cavorting elves covering the front.  The song title was blazoned across the top.  "Cute, Norton, real cute!"

The rest laughed and McCullough shook her head, finding herself trying to identify the various suggested activities pictured.

          "What are _they_ doing?" Debi asked, pointing to one of the elven couples.

          "We'll talk about _that_ later," she told her daughter,  folding the garment up and setting off another round of snorts and chuckles.  She smiled menacingly at the black man.  "I'll treasure this, Norton."

          "I thought so," Drake replied.  "Gertrude, back six – out of the line of fire."

          "O-kay," Suzanne said, shifting the focus off her new nightware.  "This is for you, Mrs. P," she continued, passing her gift to the older woman who was also on the couch.  "My song was _Hark the Herald Angels Sing_ , and to be honest, I couldn't come up with anything as, _inventive_ …"  She looked at Norton.  "…as our computer wizard, but, I hope you enjoy it."

          Mrs. Pennyworth opened the package and smiled.  "Oh, yes, I will enjoy this."  She held up a tape for the others to see.  "I simply adore the Vienna Boys Choir."  Slipping the tape inside her apron pocket, she reached down to pick up what was easily the largest, gaily warped box in the room, and carried it over to Sergeant Derriman.  "This is for you, John."

          Derriman accepted the box with a nod and an embarrassed half-smile.  It was well known that the sergeant and the housekeeper had a special, not-so-secret relationship going – she baked, he tested.

          "The Christmas carol I had was _Winter Wonderland_ ," she explained as he carefully opened the gift.

          Sucking in a breath, he licked his lips before reaching in and pulling out a gingerbread house set in a frosting winterscape.  "This is great!" he declared.

          Laughter exploded from the group.  "Going to add to that tire, Sarge?" Coleman asked, not unkindly.

          "Absolutely," Derriman said, his mouth already watering.  "But y'all can have a bite, too."

          "Smart move, Derriman," Ironhorse said, a twinkle in his eye.  Mrs. P was already legendary amongst the soldiers for her cakes, cookies, and puddings.

          "But, _before_ we dig into this…  Norah, this is for you."  Derriman pulled a package out from under his folding chair and passed the tubular gift to the woman.

          "I'm with Dr. McCullough," Norah said, turning the gift over in her hands.  "I'm not so sure I should open this in mixed company."

          Derriman smiled.  "Oh, I think it'll be all right.  By the way, the song I pulled was _Frosty the Snowman_."

          Coleman paled slightly.  "John, this isn't beefcake, is it?"

          The platoon sergeant looked innocent.  "Now, would I do that?"

"Yes, you would," Norah said as she tore into the wrapping, finally sliding a poster from the cardboard tube.  "Debi, maybe you should leave the room."

          "Oh, that's okay, Sergeant Coleman, I like beefcake," the girl stated matter-of-factly, causing Suzanne to laugh and Ironhorse to cough into his coffee.

          "Okay…"  Unfolding the poster, Norah's expression went from hesitant to shocked.  "How—?  How'd you do that?"

          "Wow," Debi said, staring at the large photo of a winter landscape, complete with several snowmen in the front yard of a cozy looking house.  "That's really pretty.  Where is it?"

          "Vermont," Coleman replied.  "That's my dad's place.  My nieces and nephews must have built the snowmen.  Derri, _how'd_ you get this?"

          Derriman looked smug.  "Easy, I called your dad and asked him to take a snapshot with a snowman in it and overnight it to me.  Then I took it to that photo place in the mall and they blew it up like that."

          Coleman shook her head.  "This is great," she said, delivering a playful punch to the man's upper arm.  "Thanks, Sarge."

          "You're welcome, Norah," Derriman said, rubbing the abused limb.

          The pretty non-com looked up.  "Okay, well, here you go, Dr. Blackwood," she said, laying the poster on the floor and walking over to hand Harrison his gift.  "The song I was stuck with was _It Came Upon a Midnight Clear_ , and I'm sorry, Doctor, but I couldn't come up with a darn thing.  But I thought you might like this anyway."

          Blackwood tore into the box, revealing a slender, wooden Kaleidoscope with a large glass wheel at the end.

          "Oh," Harrison said in appreciation, holding up the instrument and slowly rotating the wheel.  "This is… amazing… really amazing."  Lowering the gift, he smiled at the woman.  "Thank you… Norah."

          Coleman blushed slightly.  "You're welcome."

          "And before I hand out my gift," Blackwood said quickly, sparing her further embarrassment.  "I'd like to see what the rest of you managed to get."  He nodded at the four remaining Omegans.

          Goodson, Alverez, Stein and Peterson exchanged their gifts amongst themselves, drawing laughter from the onlookers when Stein pulled up a stuffed red-nosed reindeer, Goodson a ten-inch wind-up chimp that tapped out revelry on a small drum, Alverez a silver bell-shaped container of Kaulua, and Peterson a watercolor set so he could deck the coach house walls.

          Expectant faces turned back to Blackwood, Debi, and Ironhorse.

          "Colonel," Blackwood said.  "I think we've kept Debi waiting long enough, don't you think?"

Ironhorse nodded, realizing that Blackwood had drawn him and was putting off the event for the last.  _You'll pay, mister_ , he thought.  _Without a doubt, you'll pay_ …  Ironhorse simply hated being set up.

          Reaching into his pocket, the soldier removed a red foil envelope and handed it to the girl, saying, "In Dr. Blackwood's little _game_ , I pulled _Jingle Bells_."

          Debi accepted the envelope and carefully opened it, wondering what in the world it could be – a gift certificate for the music store?  She pulled out a photograph of a sassy-looking Arabian-mix bay mare.  The girl's forehead wrinkled.

          "Look on the back," Ironhorse instructed.

          Turning the photo over, she read aloud, "Jingle Belle, four years old, Arabian-Morgan mix, fifteen hands.  Delivery, December twenty-eight…"  Her eyes rounded into excited blue orbs.  "Delivery?"

          "Well, you did say you wanted a horse of your own, didn't you?" the colonel asked.  "I could send it back."

          "No!"  Debi looked to her mother.  It had been an ongoing negotiation between the pair.

          "Yes, he cleared it with me," Suzanne said with a smile.

          Debi squealed with delight and launched herself like a small missile at Ironhorse, enveloping him in a huge, suffocating hug.  "Oh, thank you, Colonel!  Thank you!   She's beautiful!"

          "Let's take a look," Harrison said, accepting the photo from the girl, and freeing his friend from her death grip.  Ironhorse sucked in a deep breath and gave the man an appreciative look.

          After nodding at the pretty bay mare, Blackwood passed the photo along.

          "Overshot the limit a bit, didn't you, sir?" Derriman asked when he saw the picture.

          "I merely used my imagination and creatively interpreted Dr. Blackwood's 'twenty-five,'" Ironhorse explained.  "Imagination counted, remember?"

          When Debi was under control again – photo clutched between her fingers, squirming on the couch – all eyes fixed on Ironhorse.

          "It's your turn, Paul," Blackwood said, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.  Ironhorse groaned and the rest chuckled.

          "What song?" Norton asked.  "I should've known it was you, when you _weren't_ running around trying to finds out who had the Colonel."

          "Hrumph," Ironhorse said, folding his arms across his chest.  _Why would anyone possibly care who had me?_

          "Me, too," Suzanne concurred.  "So, come on, Harrison, what song, already?"

          " _A Marvelous Little Toy_ ," the astrophysicist said smugly.  Reaching into his shirt pocket, Harrison pulled out a small electronic device and pressed one of the buttons decorating the surface.  In the distance they could hear a whirring-bopping sound that was getting progressively closer.  With a chirp and a whistle, a short robot rolled into the living room.  Laughter erupted from everyone but the colonel.

          The stubby, tubular body had been decorated so it resembled a soldier in full battle gear, at least in clothing.  The half sphere at the top of the thing was painted with a red beret, and as they watched, the thing slowly rolled over to Ironhorse, the beret rising, and a small scrap of paper emerging.  The colonel carefully plucked the note away from the small machine's metal grasp and opened it.  "I need to see you in my office.  Blackwood," he read aloud.

          "Marvelous, isn't it."

          B-Rrrrrrr…. the toy sounded.  Ironhorse scowled at it.

          " _What_ is that thing, Blackwood?"

          Harrison smiled indulgently.  "It's a fully automated, programmable, _toy_.  It will carry messages or small items around, has a voice system that's like a walkie-talkie—"

          "Cool!" Debi enthused.  "Can I play with it, too, Colonel?" she asked, causing several of the Omegans to begin coughing and clearing their throats.

          Ironhorse's eye narrowed as he stared at Blackwood.  "You set me up," he accused.

          Harrison's eyebrows rose slowly up his forehead.  "Now, Colonel, would I do that?"

          "Yes," the soldier replied, nervously eying the thing as it rolled in a circle around his chair, making all sorts of odd and threatening sounds.  "What's it doing, now?"

          "Imprinting you on its memory," Blackwood explained.  "Once it does that, it'll follow you wherever you go, do whatever you tell it to do, and generally make your life an adventure."

          "Imprinting?  Hmm, just like a baby duck," Suzanne mused.  "I guess that makes you its mother," she told Paul.

          "Blackwood!"

          Beep…  Chirp…  B-Rrrrr…


End file.
